


Working Around Assumptions

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Series: On Your Knees [3]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-28
Updated: 2007-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel piece to two PWPs, <a href="http://v-angelique.livejournal.com/40553.html">Time of Need</a> and <a href="http://v-angelique.livejournal.com/67491.html#cutid1">Under</a>.  Since we left off with the hint of someone new for Sean, and since in my head that someone was definitely Bill, I decided I just had to write Sean/Bill.  And since <a href="http://telesilla.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://telesilla.livejournal.com/"><b>telesilla</b></a> has had some rough times as of late, this is once again for her—after all, if it weren't for her, I'd have no idea who Bill even is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Around Assumptions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Telesilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/gifts).



Orlando and Viggo were off on holiday in Denmark. To Orlando's credit, he had actually checked with Sean before they left and made sure he was okay, okay with _this_. They were, after all, going to meet Viggo's parents, and though it wasn't like Sean could say "no"—for what was he to Orli, really, other than a friend and someone to take down occasionally, as a favour, when Sean needed it?—he had been in a rather black period for a month or so, and Orlando didn't want him to completely lose it while they were gone.

So Sean had placated, Sean had reassured, and now Sean was sitting in his shiny new London house, drinking a shiny aged glass of Scotch whisky. He wasn't tempted by the bottle of Aspirin on the dresser, no, not quite that far gone, but he was certainly in a shit enough mood to want to get mind-bendingly, shit-faced, off his arse drunk. If it had been twenty years before, he'd be at a club in a certain part of town picking up some pretty thing to go along with his pleasant buzz, but unfortunately that wasn't a luxury he could afford, these days. He sighed and tossed the second half of the drink back, relishing the burn.

* * *

 

It was ten in the morning when the phone started ringing, and Sean groaned as he tugged the pillow resolutely over his head, ignoring its shrill insistence. If it was his agent, he could call her back. If it was Orlando or Viggo, they'd ring back themselves. But no, the voice on the machine after his own recorded message was unfamiliar.

"Hi, Sean, I know this is fucking weird, man, and I apologise in advance, but I just got into town and there's been a mix-up with the hotels. My name's Bill, I'm a friend of Orlando's—we worked on Black Hawk Down together, don't know if he ever mentioned my name… anyway, I just called to see if I might be able to crash his place for a couple of nights and he said you have a spare key? I'll be working and the studio is fine to store my stuff for a few hours, but if you could ring me back I'd really appreciate it. Number's 001-310-555-3958. Thanks again."

Sean frowned after the beep, wondering if this were some sort of a joke. Black Hawk Down? He remembered the film, yeah, remembered Orli being in it, but it had been a few years and he didn't remember the name Bill. He wasn't just going to give Orli's key away to some American he didn't know, either, so he fumbled around on the nightstand for his mobile, cursing last night's binge and the too-bright sun coming in through sheer drapes.

"Hello?"

"It's me," Sean answered simply, sighing as he rolled onto his back. "How's Denmark?"

"Fine," Orlando replied, and Sean could hear the frown in his voice. _Quit worrying so much, Bloom. I'm not fraying apart at the seams, at least not yet._

"I just got a call from a friend of yours."

"Bill, yeah. Do you mind meeting him at the house to drop off the keys? I'll owe you one—your house is just kind of out of the way, and he's not driving…"

"Sure, it's fine," Sean agreed quickly. "I just wanted to make sure it was legit and all."

"Yeah. He's a good guy. I think you'd like him," Orlando replied, an edge of something unreadable but pleasant in his tone. Sean frowned for a moment, and then decided he'd rather not know.

"All right. I'll give him a ring. Give Viggo my love."

"Of course," Orlando agreed before ringing off and leaving Sean to dial this Bill character.

* * *

 

"I really appreciate you coming out here to meet me," Bill offered as Sean got out of his car in front of Orlando's drive and keyed in the numbers on the pad so that Bill could see how to operate the fancy high-security gate system. "I know it must be a bit out of your way."

Sean smiled to himself and shook his head. "No, mate, it's just that I'm a bit out of everyone else's. I'm not bothered; I probably needed to get out of the house for a bit, anyway." And it was true—Sean felt worlds better after having a shower and a shave and combing his hair a bit. He was dressed casually enough in jeans and a light blue shirt unbuttoned a bit at the top, leather jacket unzipped, and he couldn't help but feel a bit underdressed next to Bill. The man had had an audition, or talks about one, or something to that effect, but whatever it was the charcoal grey suit fit him like a second skin and Sean's cock was rising quickly to attention in his jeans.

"Well the least I can do is offer you in for a drink," Bill suggested as the gate finally swung open. "Assuming your friend's got some booze lying around."

Sean snorted at that. "Nothing I'd love to do more than drink Orli's good whisky, mate… but I did go on a bit of a bender last night, to be honest, and the thought of alcohol…" He shrugged apologetically, but didn't step away, waiting… for what he wasn't sure.

"Ah," Bill replied with a completely understanding smile. "Been there many a time. Well… come in anyway? It's about time for dinner; Orlando said there were some steaks in the freezer and I make a mean steak au poivre."

"Yeah?" Sean smiled broadly, wondering if the offer hanging in the air was genuine or simply his eager imagination talking. _Not like he's got the kind of thing you need right now anyway, Bean._ "Don't mind if I do, then," he agreed before his mind could catch up to his mouth, and then he was pulling his car inside the gates and joining Bill at the door.

Orli's house was rather modern, the outside stark and white and angular and the inside decorated in a minimalist fashion, mostly black and white, vaguely Japanese in character. He had a few impressive pieces—some screens actually imported from Japan, a large bonsai tree in one corner of the living room and a falling water sculpture in the other. The living room was large and open, giving way to an equally spacious kitchen, the appliances shining and new. There was a black baby grand piano opposite the entranceway to the kitchen, facing one of the front windows, and Bill smiled and ran his fingers gracefully over a scale before moving on.

The kitchen was long but fairly narrow, with an elevated breakfast "nook" on the north side, the table low and square and plain with cushions surrounding it on three sides. Orli liked to do a traditional tea service there from time to time, and the older he got, the more Orli got into Buddhist practices, which Viggo encouraged as far as Sean could tell. Sean smiled at the few cluttered reminders of Viggo's presence in the kitchen—a scrap of poetry torn out of the _New Yorker_ attached to the stainless steel refrigerator with a magnet, an empty gourd with a straw in it sitting on the counter.

He offered to take Bill's bag, and as Bill opened the freezer and inspected the steaks Sean moved past him, out of the kitchen on the other side, which opened back into the front hallway. To his right was a door, leading out to the meditation garden a friend of Orli's had planted for him in the back with a little of Sean's own help. To the left were the powder room and front closet. Directly in front was a spiral staircase with iron railing, and Sean ascended it, remembering the first time he'd been up here and closing his eyes briefly at the memory before moving on.

The guest room faced the front of the house, straight off the landing, and Sean tossed the bag there, looking around to make sure everything was tidy enough before turning and going to close doors. Probably best, anyway—Bill could open them, but part of why Sean was the one with the key had to do with moments like this one.

He left the pristine white of the guest room for the next door, the most cluttered room in the house. Viggo's studio was a mess, of course, papers and paints and God knows what else thrown everywhere, though an unfinished sculpture of Orli's also sat in a corner and Sean smiled, thinking of the two of them working side-by-side, before he pulled the door shut. Any residual jealousy had dissipated over the past few years, and though the whole "meet the parents" trip made him a little uneasy, it was more envy than anything nastier.

The master suite was at the back of the house, and slightly less cluttered, though a bit of Viggo's mess did extend into that room despite how zen Orlando attempted to keep it through strict adherence to Feng Shui and God-knows what else. Their bed was low to the ground and very wide, and the room sparsely furnished, though Viggo's clothes did tend to migrate out of the armoire, one t-shirt thrown carelessly on a doorknob. Sean pulled that door shut as well, and then moved on to the last room, the most important secret to keep.

Not that Orlando was particularly fastidious in his secret-keeping—otherwise he would've sent Sean ahead of Bill to lock the door—but the playroom was something Sean suspected few men would understand, and many others would be embarrassed by. It didn't stop him, however, from lingering a moment in the doorway. The playroom faced south, but it was the only room in the house with no windows. It was sound-proofed and just as immaculately kept as it had been that first afternoon. Sean closed his eyes, remembering the way Orlando had locked him in and made him kneel, and the tide of that particular memory took him so far in a moment that he didn't even notice footsteps on the carpeted floor behind him.

"Impressive."

Bill's voice was low and unreadable, and Sean jumped nearly half a mile before the man laid a hand on his shoulder, a quick squeeze reassuring, before he stepped past Sean without asking and took a slow turn of the room.

"I'm envious," he added after a moment, and Sean just stared, not leaving the doorway, as Bill gently fingered the tools hanging on the wall with the kind of respect you'd give another man's prized antiques, or maybe his guns. "Think he'd mind?" Bill asked, turning to Sean, arching an eyebrow as his hand reached out to the side and slowly wrapped around the handle of a whip.

Sean shook his head, his throat suddenly hoarse and dry as the desert, and Bill smiled slightly, turning back to the wall and lifting the whip, weighing the handle between his hands before he turned, suddenly, and cracked it through the air.

Sean watched, distantly aware that he was holding his breath, as Bill inspected the make of the handle and the single tail before shrugging his jacket off and hanging it on an empty wooden peg. He pushed his shirtsleeves up casually and then flicked the singletail a few times, tracing an "X" in the air, watching with a critical eye the way its lashes fell on an invisible target. Sean watched the muscles in Bill's bared forearm and congratulated himself for not coming in his jeans.

"This is a good one," Bill commented, quietly, when he was done, and then laughed lightly to himself for no apparent reason and replaced the whip carefully where he had found it, wiping the sweat off the handle with his shirt. "Dinner, then?"

Sean was surprised at himself for managing more than a squeak, and as it was his "okay" was rough, a little husky, his eyes dark and desperate. Bill smiled, and Sean could see it. He knew _everything_. They went downstairs for dinner.

* * *

 

"So you just finished filming a movie with Orlando, is that right? He mentioned it the last time he e-mailed, said he was in Morocco or some place."

"Morocco, yeah," Sean confirmed, taking a bite of his steak. Perfectly seasoned, pink and juicy on the inside, and he could snog the chef just for the meal, truth be told. Though, the man's inexplicably expert way of wielding a whip wasn't a bad perk. "It's a picture about the Trojan war," he elaborated, using work as a way to pull his mind away from the almost painfully imminent distraction of sex, heavy and promising in the air. _Oh please dear God let him be interested…_

"Who's directing?" Bill asked, taking a sip of wine and looking entirely unhurried. They sat across from each other in the nook, on the cushions, and Bill relaxed back against the wall like he owned the place—tie long since discarded, shirt half unbuttoned, legs slightly spread in a manner that was entirely too inviting. Sean had to pinch the inside of his own arm to remind himself not to look.

"Wolfgang Petersen."

Bill nodded and swirled the wine; took a bite of potatoes.

"What's this audition you've got?" Sean asked.

"Oh, minor role in some mystery. I don't have my hopes up but my agent insisted. I've got a few jobs lined up in Hollywood filming through the second half of the year, though, so it's only if it works out schedule-wise."

"Scheduling's a bitch," Sean agreed, and that he really could relate to. Filming with Orli had been nice, really nice truth be told, and though they weren't actually _together_ that often, and Viggo ended up coming out a fair bit, it was still good to have a friend around. Now he was looking forward to another round of short shoots, many of them in the States, meaning a whole bevy of flights he'd have to drown in pills and Grey Goose. Fan-bloody-tastic.

"Well, I do what puts food on the table," Bill reasoned with a shrug.

Sean nodded. "Are you married?"

"Divorced. Twice."

Sean cringed in sympathy. "Recent?"

"Couple of years. You?"

"Been a few since the last. Never bloody saw her, anyway. She was the third."

Bill echoed the cringe. "Well here's to… not dealing with that anymore," he offered with a smile, raising his glass. Sean laughed and clinked with enthusiasm.

"Not planning on trying that again, then?"

Bill raised an eyebrow, shifted a bit so that his legs fell apart again, and pinned Sean with a look he had no trouble reading. "What do you think?"

Sean's eyes dipped down, and yeah, sure enough, resting oh-so-casually against Bill's left leg, outlined clearly by his trousers…

"I'm thinking not."

"You think correctly," Bill agreed, taking another bite of his steak and a sip of wine before speaking again. "Shall we take our dessert upstairs?"

Sean nodded.

* * *

 

"How do you kneel, boy?"

"Not without a fight, Sir," Sean replied evenly, though his brain was already halfway in headspace with the silent vibes this man was giving off and he wasn't nearly so reluctant a sub as he used to be. Still, he wanted Bill to _take_ him down. He wanted to have that ability to trust in when he was itching for a struggle.

Bill smiled, and Sean knew this was going to work out just fine.

"Maybe I should make myself clearer," Bill continued, his hand shooting out to manage a death grip on Sean's balls even through his jeans, yanking until tears pricked Sean's eyes and a high-pitched whimper threatened to escape his throat. "You're going to _kneel_ boy, so I'd like to know how much I'm going to have to correct you before you get it right."

"I'm not trained, Sir," Sean grunted, shifting his tack slightly. The pressure on his balls relented just a hair, and Bill used the other hand to tip up Sean's chin.

"That's all right. I've got time."

And then Bill released his grip suddenly, and pushed down on Sean's shoulder so that he was kneeling mostly from relief, a monumental effort keeping him from curling all the way down into the foetal position. Still, his form was a little sloppy and he knew it.

"Hands behind your back, slut," Bill ordered, the toe of his shoe shifting out to kick Sean in the kneecap—not too hard, but enough to send a message. Sean wondered if it signalled some mental disorder on his part that his predominant thought went to whether Bill owned any leather boots.

"Chin up," Bill added once Sean's hands were reluctantly laced. "Back straight, eyes down."

Sean did as he was told, but his tone of voice was still sullen. "Not a slut."

Bill laughed and then his hand darted out, taking a fist full of Sean's hair and yanking back, _hard_, forcing Sean to look him in the eye. "_This_ tells me otherwise," he protested, lifting his foot and pressing down just slightly on Sean's crotch with his shoe. The pressure wasn't enough to be pain, and sure enough Sean's cock jumped and throbbed under the attention. Bill's smile was slow and slightly evil.

Sean met Bill's eyes defiantly, but didn't answer. Bill laughed again and bent down. "You're going to be fun to break," he murmured before taking Sean's lips in a long, claiming kiss. Sean felt his brain abruptly short circuit as Bill tugged at his lips and delved deep into his mouth and he didn't expect _this_ from the man; no, this was too familiar for a first encounter, for a scene between men. But Bill kissed like it was a bloody cosmic event, and Sean couldn't bring himself to protest. When the man finally pulled back, he was swaying, and to his utter mortification his lips remained parted when Bill pulled away, his body leaning forward slightly to follow him.

Bill laughed and brushed a finger over Sean's swollen bottom lip. "Slut," he reminded Sean, affectionately this time, and Sean frowned but didn't protest. _Fuck._

"I want your forehead on the floor," Bill said as he stood up and stepped away, over towards Orlando's sadistic little wall-o-toys. Sean shuddered and considered saying something about how what Bill _wanted_ wasn't his problem, but of course they both knew that was a lie. Sean was still rock hard, his whole body on edge for a man he barely knew. Letting out a breath slowly to steady himself and keep from falling too fast, Sean leaned forward and rested his forehead on the floor in front of him, his wrists crossed behind his back.

"I suspect you're fairly familiar with this collection," Bill commented as Sean waited, making an effort at steadying his breathing by counting down, slowly, with each rise and fall of his chest.

"Familiar enough, Sir," Sean agreed, thighs and arse clenching as he thought about what Bill might be planning to use on him.

"Anything here you think Orlando wouldn't like another man playing with?"

Sean frowned and considered the question. Orlando was proud of his canes, he knew, and he took good care of all the toys, but he had used most of them on Sean at some point or another and Bill obviously knew what he was doing.

"No, Sir. I can't be positive but… I don't think so."

Bill smiled and ran his hand along the wall, taking thorough stock of the options available to him before making a choice.

"All right, boy. If he doesn't like it, it'll be your ass it's coming out of, anyway."

Sean shivered at that reminder, and no, he wouldn't object. He had a sudden image of Orlando beating him while Bill watched, and his cock jumped against his thighs.

"Tell me what you like, boy."

Sean frowned. "Sir?"

"What you _like._ It's a simple enough question, slut. You shouldn't need clarification."

Sean flinched slightly. "I like pain, Sir. Being taken down."

Bill was silent, and Sean found himself trying to guess where he was in the room. "Seeing me with that whip earlier. Did that make you hard?"

"Yes, Sir," Sean replied without hesitation.

"Would you like me to take that whip to you, boy?"

"Oh God, Sir," Sean breathed out before he could stop himself. "Yes, please."

"Good to know."

Sean frowned. He counted slowly in his head to keep himself centred, reaching fifteen before he heard Bill's footsteps again. He hoped to feel the kiss of the whip's tail through the seat of his jeans, but wasn't surprised when he didn't. Instead, Bill knelt behind him and reached around Sean's head, pushing a ball gag in his mouth before he could object. He hated the thing, all right, and he wanted to protest—what had he done so far to warrant punishment?—but then Bill was sliding his hands up under Sean's shirt to coolly, methodically attach clamps to his nipples, and his whole body shivered with want. No way to disguise it now.

Bill took care of Sean's clothes peremptorily, slipping Sean's shirt over his head and waiting until Sean's fingers were laced again before reaching inside the bend of his torso to flick open the button of his fly. He tugged the jeans back until they were bunched at Sean's knees, but didn't continue—further immobilising him, Sean realised with a mental nod of approval.

"Good boy," Bill murmured, holding Sean in place with a firm hand to the back of the neck as he unexpectedly pushed two moist fingers into Sean's arse. Sean let out a little yelp of surprise, but it was swallowed by the gag and he quickly centred himself again. "I see he hasn't trained all of the response out of you," Bill commented with a bit of a laugh in his tone. "I like that."

Sean mumbled something uncomplimentary into the gag, and Bill just laughed, thrusting his fingers as he simultaneously trailed two fingertips of the other hand down Sean's spine. There was something intimately erotic about the touch, and Sean shivered, warning bells going off in his brain but not quite making it around the obstacle of his massively hard cock to actually get him fighting.

"I think you'd look pretty stuffed up with something nice and thick, don't you think?"

Sean groaned, and then felt Bill's fingers slide out, an object immediately pressing into the stretched hole.

"Maybe later you can earn my dick," Bill suggested casually, cruelly. "Not tonight, but later."

_Fuck. Not tonight?_

Sean whimpered into the gag, and the plug—bloody huge plug, Sean mentally corrected—was shoved further inside, not all too gently. He could feel its contours, bumps designed to stimulate from the inside, and then Bill's hand against his arse, settling the silicone device into place.

"Should take a picture of you like this, pretty boy," Bill commented, smoothing his whole hand up Sean's spine, then tracing the contours of his shoulders. Sean shook his head frantically, making noises of protest through the gag, and Bill just smirked. "Prostrate before me, pants down around your knees, gagged, plugged, clamped, your cock fucking drooling for it."

Sean whimpered again, but he couldn't deny it. His prick was hard, the slit leaking fluid onto his legs, and as much as he wanted to fucking punch the arrogant bastard, what he wanted more was for Bill to fight back, to show Sean his place, prove his superiority. Sean was looking for something, he realised in a strange moment of clarity as Bill wrenched his hands to the back of his own head. He was looking for someone strong enough to fight him, someone with whom he could go all out, no-holds-barred, and still end up on his knees in the end. Orlando had given him that, to some extent, but Orlando belonged to Viggo at this point as much as Viggo belonged to Orlando and Sean was very much a third party in terms of their relationship. Bill was someone he could potentially have to himself.

Except, of course, for the tiny detail that he'd only just met the man, and so far Sean had only proved himself to be a mouthy sub whose bark was worse than his bite. _Fuck._

"I'd like to pin strings of clothespins all up and down your body," Billy mused, casually, taking his hand away. "That was one of my favourite things to do to a boy when I first got my leathers, you know; used to have bags of plain wooden laundry pins with the spirals all loosened by hand so that they'd pinch right up to the maximum pain threshold without doing any permanent damage. It's amazing how a boy who can take beatings, spankings, whippings, floggings… will fucking cry if he gets a splinter in his thigh."

Sean shifted uncertainly, wanting to be touched again.

"You look like you'd be pretty crying, Sean. Maybe I'll find out."

Something about the way Bill said his first name made Sean's blood run cold, and when Bill returned his hand to Sean's spine his whole body tensed, his arse dragging the plug further inside his body and making him moan unintentionally around the rubber ball in his mouth. He could feel Bill's smile against his ear, tuned in to every detectable nuance in the man's motion as he knelt now behind and slightly to the right of Sean's body. It was just another unfamiliar intimacy, being on the same physical level as the man dominating him, and it served to unsettle Sean even further.

"Pretty boy," Bill murmured, his tongue flicking against Sean's ear, his hand continuing down until his fingers dragged, nails first, through the valley of Sean's arse. Bill's hand was turned so that his palm faced away from Sean, and he let his hand unfold naturally, fingers dropping until the pads were resting against the distended skin around the plug. And then he crooked them, the middle two engaging in a subtle push. Sean choked on an attempted breath, found himself making a high pitched whining noise that sounded more like one of Viggo's horses than himself.

"_Good_ boy," Bill whispered, his breath tickling the bone just to the inside of Sean's ear—_tragus_, he remembered in an unintentional recall of third year biology lessons. Sean's synapses were on fire, his body barely within his control. His skin flushed all over with the praise, and one steadying palm on his back felt more significant than any of the many commitments Sean had received in the past thirty years or so of life.

It wasn't the quick dive, the forceful drop into submission that Orlando had on many occasions been able to wrench from him, triggering an orgasm that caught Sean more often than not by surprise when permission was finally given. It was instead a slow, warm tingling, spreading throughout his nervous system as Bill's hand moved in gentle circles on Sean's back. Bill's fingers took a firmer grip on the plug, slowly fucking him, and Sean moaned long and low around the obstruction in his mouth. His body sank deeper into a headspace that was palpable, but not frightening. Safe.

"Give me more, boy," Bill cooed, and Sean knew Bill was observing the changes in his body, in the way his breathing became even and shallow and the way his muscles lost their fight-or-flight tension. Bill's hand moved up his back, kept going up until it rested on the back of Sean's neck again, subtly holding him in place. Sean's pulse throbbed in his nipples, and in his cock. He could feel the beat of his blood in his arse, too, in the tight skin that gripped the plug as Bill forced it in and out in a steady motion.

"_More_," Bill repeated, his tone more forceful, teeth clamping down on the back of Sean's neck and not letting go until Sean bucked and whined and tried to push up into the thing that was fucking him despite the total lack of leverage. Bill's body surrounded him like a cocoon; Bill was still on his knees, and Sean had no idea how he could feel so thoroughly _dominated_ by a man who would sink to his knees on the floor with his sub. He had no idea, but that didn't stop him from wanting more.

"You're going to come for me, boy," Bill promised, his mouth tracing the shell of Sean's ear and then pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. Sean let a squeak escape around the gag, and then Bill was dragging the plug nearly all the way out, taking a punishing grip on Sean's hair, and yanking Sean's head up and back. His torso unfolded as the plug slammed back inside at a new, more severe angle, and Bill's lips descended on Sean's, licking the outline of the gag, leaving the rubber ball messy with mixed saliva.

Sean couldn't ask for permission, couldn't halt the inevitable, couldn't question the fact that he was nearly fifty fucking years old and his cock was pulsing, spurting come onto his stomach, his thigh, and Orlando's pristine carpet as Bill claimed his mouth and continued to fuck his arse with the plug, shoving the ridged surface _hard_ against Sean's prostate well past his orgasm until he was whimpering, begging silently for mercy as his cock pulsed feebly with aftershocks on his thigh.

When Bill finally stopped fucking him with the toy, not pulling it out but leaving it motionless inside him, he let go of Sean's hair and Sean fell forward, onto hands that were stinging with the pins-and-needles sensation of having been left in the same position for too long. Bill reached for the back of the gag, unfastened the strap from Sean's head, and pulled the ball out of his mouth. He unfastened the clamps from Sean's nipples, sending blood coursing painfully into the now-puffy skin, and then he gathered Sean into his arms on the floor, gently stroking his back as he kissed Sean's shoulders, his neck, and finally his mouth.

Sean's jaw felt strange and sore, and he had forgotten how to speak. Bill smiled and stroked his hair. He felt out of place. Vulnerable.

"Take as long as you need," Bill murmured.

Sean wasn't sure what to make of that.


End file.
